A Poison Tree
by Toccata No. 9
Summary: I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. 50 Scenes. Jonathan/Sherry.
1. Redeemer

Disclaimer: Haven't owned 'em so far, don't own 'em now.

Author's Notes: I found a 50 theme challenge. Some of it may go into my future story _Before Reason_, but what doesn't will be stored here. For newcomers: Sherry is someone Jonathan had a crush on growing up in comics. She betrays him, he kills her. Cannonically she's a straightforward "popular bitch" sort, but I've always felt that was taking the easy way out. So I interpreted her in Nolanverse. Won't be saying how she backstabs him here or anything explaining the twist, but you may get hints. On 'Redeemer' specifically, it takes place after Crane has taken his revenge.

A Poison Tree

**005. Redeemer**

Jonathan never asked her to save him. Rescue was the last thing on his mind—he just wanted to escape Arlen, to go somewhere north or west or anywhere different. He just wanted to vanish in the crowd, read his books without being noticed. Peace and anonymity. That was all.

Damn her. Damn her.

_I'm so sorry Jon, I didn't mean for anything to—_

He's sitting in the closet, face pressed against his jeans, shaking and unable to stop. Two pairs of shoes are being crushed underneath him. It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

Thoughts of her swirl and screech around his head like industrial sound. Sherry's mouth opened for him tonight. Too pink, too wide, too loud. Perfectly screaming his name over and over and _it doesn't MATTER!_ He moans—slides onto his knees, his elbows. Words run across his lips but their meaning escapes him. There's not enough air to breathe and heat bleeds out his stomach like cancer.

"Sherry…" And he doesn't want an answer, wants to do it over and over as his mind splinters around every protest, every denial, every confession or lie she ever told him.

"Sherry…" And the name makes him sick, makes him sweat, makes him grit his teeth in the dark where Scarecrow reigns victorious at last. Jonathan's lungs contract quickly, painfully as his hand slams against the wall and meaningless sounds overflow.

He never did ask her to save him.

It doesn't matter.


	2. Embrace

Author's Notes: Think I like this one. Says a few things about Sherry's character and how she is as a friend that may be important.

**018. Embrace**

He wasn't having a good day. Jonathan hadn't said anything about it of course, but then he hadn't said anything at all. No volunteering information during class. No smart-ass observations. No basic communication—hell, he hardly even looked at her.

So she decided to wait for him earlier in the week than usual, sat on the fence, swung her legs to pass the time until he got there. Clouds flew by like smoke overhead and Sherry was once again grateful for her jacket. Chilly, this time of year.

"Hey Jonny." One minute trudging past, face down, a frown tracing its way oh-so-intently across his forehead. The next white as a sheet, jaw slack, stepping back like an animal spurred to run stuck in place.

"Sherry?" He whispered and one, two, three books slid to the ground. She smiled before hopping down as Jonathan doubled over—closing the distance just in time to hand him his Chemistry textbook.

"How's it going?"

"Going?" It was though she'd sprouted a second head. "Why are you here?"

"Wanted to hang out," Sherry answered simply. His lip was scabbed.

"Oh." A beat. "You know I can't do that." She scowled.

"Sure you can. Jesus Christ Jon, it's just one day."

"Sherry, I can't."

Her brow rose. "What, there someone else you'd rather be with?"

"Of course not!" Jonathan's glasses were slipping. He took them off rather vehemently.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'll—I'll get in trouble, Sherry." God, why was that boy so tense all the time? Stiff shoulders, stiff spine, stiff everything.

"You're always in trouble." She tugged his elbow lightly, and his eyes magnetized to the spot. "Come on. "

"I." Couldn't he at least breathe? "I have to go home."

Sherry sighed. "Fine." Her grip did not loosen. "Didja hurt your mouth?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your mouth, Jon. How's it feelin'?"

"Oh." Blank. "It's…better."

"That's good." She slid her arms over stiff shoulders, behind his head. "Try not to let it happen again, okay?"

He didn't hug her in return, didn't say a word.

"Okay, Jon?"

His hands came to her mid-back, his chin beside her neck—tighter than she'd expected. Warmer and a little more human than she'd expected too.

"Okay."

By the time they separated, Sherry figured maybe he was.


	3. Nostalgia

Author's Notes: This one made me much sadder than I thought it would. Takes place after Jon's working at Arkham, before Batman Begins. Also, I used a writer's choice.

**020. Nostalgia**

She catches him unawares at a fundraiser. Jonathan is answering questions posed by brain-dead sycophants who hear but don't listen. He stops in midsentence.

Freckles, brown hair, easy grin. For a moment he thinks Sherry has grown up along with him, ignores her lips and waspish face because those are little things. This woman is polished. Elevated by high heel shoes and decorated in the finest pearls money can buy. Her dress is nearly black beneath ballroom chandeliers. Glittering like one midnight river he remembers.

"Sorry Dr. Crane—do you mind if I borrow Roman for a moment?" And part of him is irrationally crushed because this imbecile with her expensive hair and vacant expression just doesn't have Sherry's drawl, Sherry's slang. The Southern twang he himself abandoned.

"Not at all," answers Jonathan coolly. "I was finished anyway."

He empties his glass.

* * *

Just this side of tipsy, Dr. Crane falls into bed fully clothed and exhales. The rolling in his stomach isn't alcohol, the smile tracing his lips isn't happy, but he tells himself things are going smoothly and it is enough.

Jonathan doesn't have energy to waste on hate right now.

He imagines she wouldn't be terribly impressed with him, and the absurdity of that understatement makes him laugh until he cries.

* * *

On the cusp of unconsciousness, it is still impossible to pretend Sherry was ever a good girl. This isn't comforting, but he doesn't dream of her.


	4. Pixie

Author's Notes: Another pleasant scene. :-)

**031. Pixie**

"It's starting to rain."

Jonathan feels something that is not quite nausea, not quite terror unfold deep within his belly as her expression shifts. Sherry's mouth floats up at the corners—he finds himself reminded of the fae with their happy tendency to abduct those who stray too close, far too close—and she leans back where she sits.

"Well, let it rain then. Been too hot out anyway."

Another drop hits the back of his neck, his wrist. The sky is thunder gray and he'll never get back dry. Granny will be angry. There's no avoiding that.

But Jonathan comes to realize there are other dangerous things to fear in this moment. Sherry's eyes fall shut, head tilting to expose the sun-tarnished skin of her neck. She's aware of herself and very much enjoying herself. Dust is on her knees and grass is in her hair.

She looks incredibly beautiful right now. He tugs the hem of his pants distractedly.

"Do you think I should go?" It's not exactly what Jonathan wants to know, but it'll do.

Away from the world and wickedly delighted, her attention focuses on him. His fingers close over themselves, bracing for the secret lurking behind Sherry's teeth.

"You don't have to," she replies, "I'm not going anywhere."

Water is seeping through his shirt, leaving an increasingly spotty trail across his legs. Moisture beads on Sherry's skin and her smile stretches. She means to devour him if he'll allow it. Maybe it's nothing personal, but he no longer has the strength to run.

"Alright then. "

Her eyes glint, the triumph of madness reflected as she moves without rising to Jonathan's side. It isn't enough when their hips brush so she presses her ear to his shoulder, brings both arms around his waist.

"You know, I fucking love you sometimes." And even though she doesn't mean it the way he wants, that's okay. He breathes. His smile is dry.

"Well. Sometimes I fucking love you too."


	5. Meditate

Author's Note: Slipped this out between betaing and planning two stories. Missed working on it.

**023. Meditate**

Everything about him is weird. The words he uses, the things he reads, the clothes he wears. On a quiet day Sherry forgoes her embarrassment and takes one moment to consider Jonathan beyond "too smart for his own good".

She pretends he's a stranger or a character from their English assignments. He looks older than eighteen, worn-out under a bad haircut. His glasses are thick, too heavy, tasteless. His smiles are rare. They seldom reach his eyes.

Comparing him to other boys, he's all scrawny limbs and no fashion and maybe a little effeminate. Or not. In their conversations Sherry has become increasingly aware of his masculinity—an arcane otherworld about power and warped physicality. Signs, unspoken rules, the need to remain aloof despite little ways she tries to break him.

It's not cruel, Sherry tells herself when he shudders at a touch or hesitates too long in conversation. He only needs to shut off his brain. Jon rarely even gets angry anymore and it's frightening to see him so far from what she knows. Boys fight, boys shout, boys do stupid things, boys think with their dicks. She needs familiarity.

She needs him not to be grown-up yet.


	6. Ideal

Author's Note: This one's a drabble. Was outlining _Before Reason _and got an idea that just tiptoes around spoilers. So yeah.

**036. Ideal**

She sits between Bo's legs. Denim lies thick under both hands and over his knees. The arms around her are smooth, strong. Comfortable. He's a casual guy, Bo. He makes her laugh, makes her grin, doesn't judge stupid moments too much. They've gotten in and out of trouble together. Sherry thinks once again of how sweet he is.

To her.

Nothing else should really matter, right? Bo loves that she can speak sports, teases when she throws like a girl, kisses nice and tender. He's silly. He's fun.

God damn Jonathan Crane. _Fuck._

Sherry closes her eyes and moves on.


	7. Saliva

Author's Note: More implications sprang from this scene than I'd expected. Curious what you guys think.

**046. Saliva**

"Think you did well?" She asks, rummaging through her backpack as they walk.

Jonathan spares a glance but doesn't shrug. "I passed."

Sherry beams at him. The expression consumes her whole face. "Well, aren't we modest today?"

He presses his lips, wavering a moment on whether it would be appropriate to smile back. He refrains. "It's true. How about you?"

A faint scoff as her attention drops again. "Dunno. Could go either way, I suppose."

His brow quirks. "Didn't you study?"

Her eyes roll. "Yeah. Guess I'm just not a genius."

This throws him off. "You're…" Again, his mouth clamps shut—mind running over possibilities, pausing briefly to wonder whether she meant it as a compliment or not before abandoning the issue altogether. "You seem smart enough to me."

That makes her chuckle, and Sherry hurries to the old oak. "Quit bein' nice. I'm barely this side of average. You wouldn't _believe _some of the shit fits my mamma throws over it." Jonathan doesn't have an answer for her there, and is rescued from the obligation when she pulls out a couple of bottles and one partially eaten sandwich. "Wanna root beer?"

"Huh?" He sits next to her, and without waiting for further response she passes the food and drink to him. "Is there a reason, or—"

"I've got leftovers. Anyway, your lunches suck Jon." She smirks. "No offense."

"None taken." He eyes the turkey warily, scrutinizes the part that's missing. "Did it taste bad?"

"Huh? Oh no—I crammed over lunch. Polished off my crap first, never quite finished."

He doesn't question her extra soda, thoughtfully peeling away layers of saran wrap as if some fragile artifact is preserved inside. "Mm."

Sherry frowns. "Say, uh…you're not upset about a little spit are you?"

Jonathan blinks. "What?"

Hair is drifting in front of her eyes, and she brushes it away irritably. "You scared of germs?"

This time, he does smile back. "I'm not germaphobic." To illustrate, his first bite picks up where she left off.

He's tasted far more objectionable things.


	8. Figment

Author's Note: Kept debating whether to put this in _A Poison Tree_, separately, now or later, etc...then I realized I was being silly. :-P So here's something a little different. Also, 35 days left in the Sherry Squires fanfiction contest! Feel free to send me a note if you're interested in participating.

**010. Figment**

She doesn't have a face. She can't speak, she can't breathe, she can't move, she can't live. That doesn't stop her.

_Jonathan._

The flesh ripples off her forehead, away from her nose, unwrapping her scalp and unraveling her eyes. Bone breaks and crumbles in soundlessly. Only the mouth remains. Lopsided like something out of a surrealist painting.

_Jonathan._

What's left is bright red, ragged, featureless. Her teeth look peculiarly small underneath. She's on her hands and knees, neck dangling to one side, dry mud and blood caked over both thighs. A foot slides forward slowly, crunching twigs and insects as it travels. Sherry collapses into herself.

_Jonathan._

The dead have an eternity to recover.

_Jon._

One night she reaches him. They kiss, and he cannot scream.


	9. Vital Signs

Author's Note: This will probably be a two-part scenario.

**029. Vital Signs**

He returns from lunch covered in orange soda and sits. There are a few muffled giggles as George saunters in afterward. Jonathan stares at desk graffiti, elbows held close to his torso, notebook on the floor. He hunches. It occurs to Sherry that he'd normally have a blank page ready by now.

She can see his hair sticking together in places, sunlight reflecting off artificial sweeteners. It's way too hot out for this crap. He's pressing his mouth and fists discreetly, positioned to try and disappear behind their classmates.

"Crane, what in _heaven's_ name are you wearing?" asks Ms. Thacker like nobody is there to hear her exclamation. Everybody turns.

Jonathan doesn't move. "A shirt," he says very softly. "Socks. Pants."

"What, no underwear?" asks Tess quickly, chuckling before receiving a glare from the teacher.

"You hush." Snickers pass from student to student. Lower but clearly audible, she continues, "Jonathan, why don't you head off to the nurse?"

"I'm not hurt," he murmurs, and there's a snort. Sherry winces.

"You're not sitting through class like that. Go get yourself cleaned up."

For several moments, he doesn't move at all. _Oh god, _Sherry realizes, _he's red_. Jonathan stands, gathers his things, pushes his chair in, and walks out.

Six minutes later, she asks to get a drink. She is excused.

* * *

It's uncomfortable waiting alone outside the men's room, not knowing if he's even there. "Um…hey?" Eventually the door cracks.

Jonathan is soaked—his expression too tight for neutral. "What?" he asks, louder and sharper than expected.

Sherry flounders. "I…are you okay?"

"I already said I'm not hurt." His fingers contract where they rest on the wall.

"Yeah, I heard that." She chews her lip and glances down the hall. "It's…is there anything I can do to help?"

His forehead creases, sliding him briefly into confusion. "You're not allowed in here."

"I know."

"Oh." Jonathan exhales shakily. "It's mostly out now."

"Good. I'm glad." In the silence that follows she watches him struggle to regain composure. Not quite breathing, shirt dark, getting the threshold wet.

"Granny's going to murder me," Jonathan whispers.

Sherry smiles faintly. "I'm sure she'll understand." Her amusement evaporates when it looks like he's about to be sick. "Jon?"

"I'm sorry," he says, unpleasantly white and bedraggled, "My shirt is a mess and I can't explain this and oh _Christ_, Sherry—"

"Shut up." Stepping forward she puts her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You're gonna be fine. This isn't the end of the world."

It doesn't help. He grips her forearms in turn, closing his eyes. "You don't get it. She's _insane_, Sherry. A...Actually insane. And you're—"

"Shut up, Jonathan." Moving her thumbs back and forth lightly, she sighs. "It's a fucking shirt. If you really want, stop by my place on the way home today. Maybe we can fix it up."

He remains mute.

"That sound good with you, Jonno?"

A nod.

Sherry grins cautiously and spikes a few strands of hair while she has the opportunity. "Now quit worrying."


End file.
